


Breathless

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio and Archie are back in their cell in El Ferrol and talk about girls. Touching ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to [Burning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/306206).

Horatio didn’t know what roused him from sleep. The air was hot and thick up there, in his bunk right under the ceiling, and his head was wrapped in oakum and his limbs were leaden. Ever since they had returned to El Ferrol, welcomed like heroes this time, not derided like criminals, Horatio had been suffering under the heat that had turned their small cell into an unbearable prison. It wasn’t quite so bad during the day, when he was allowed to move around freely, to walk out on the cliffs and to spend hours reading in the Don’s library, but he had learned to dread the oppressive nights. It didn’t help that Archie had become increasingly silent as time progressed, and Horatio feared that he was in danger of falling into the dumb stupor in which he had found him all those months ago. Archie, however, seemed to be sleeping soundly every night, and not once had Horatio been woken by the Archie’s heartbreaking cries as he convulsed in the throes of a fit.

Horatio sighed, determined to abandon his cot and spend the rest of the night in the lower bunk, or, if necessary, on the floor. As he rolled over, he glanced down, and his heart stopped. There was Archie, sprawled across his cot, his back against the wall, his legs outstretched, his face turned against the high window from whence pale moonlight, tinged with the red hue of pre-dawn, poured in. His face was that of a marble statue, shadows pooling under his cheekbones, and his eyes were huge.

Horatio made a sound in the back of his throat and Archie startled and looked up. Instantly, the brilliant smile that Horatio had learned to covet lit up his face. “Horatio,” he whispered, and the soft sound barely made it through the pounding of the blood that had erupted in Horatio’s ears. Archie held his gaze for several endless minutes, and then he looked away from Horatio and out of the window. “There’s nothing left remarkable under the visiting moon,” he said, and it sounded like a prayer.

Horatio frowned. It hadn’t been often that he had seen Archie in this mood, but there was something deeply unsettling about the way his friend retreated into a different, strange world that Horatio wasn’t able to understand, no matter how hard he tried. He would never have expected such a fey creature to lurk beneath the exterior of the high-spirited, blithe boy whose ceaseless chatter had been Horatio’s constant companion during his first weeks on the Justinian. Not for the first time, Horatio wished he knew how to pull aside the veil that separated him from Archie in such moments and to follow him into those alien realms.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, dropped gracelessly to the floor and let himself flop onto Archie’s cot. Archie shifted obligingly to make space. For a while, they sat in silence. Archie’s gaze was fixed at the window, whilst Horatio watched Archie’s profile and the whimsical smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. Horatio liked his mouth. Had he been older and more experienced, he would have known why – because it connoted strength and tenderness and humour.

“It must be driving you out of your mind.” The sound of Archie’s voice, perfect enunciation even in a low whisper, startled him out of a hazy dream. “All this inactivity,” Archie elaborated, but he didn’t turn his head, didn’t look at Horatio. “At least last time when you were here you had company.”

“I have got company,” Horatio said, frowning.

“Not the way you had then,” Archie said. “This time, there are no long walks on the beach, in the company of a beautiful lady.”

Horatio frowned. The calm, far-away tone of voice spooked him, and he didn’t quite know what to say. “Have you known her? Miss Cobham?”

“I have seen her, often. She was quite exquisite, wearing each role with such an effortless grace,” Archie smiled. “Unlike you, I’ve never had the pleasure of an introduction, however.”

“It wasn’t my fault-“

“I’m not saying it was.” Archie tilted his head, looking at Horatio at last. “It just happened. You are Horatio Hornblower.”

It wasn’t a compliment, but it wasn’t a reproach, either. Not like in that awful night when Archie wanted to die and Horatio wouldn’t let him. “You never said,” he remembered another conversation they had; it seemed somehow fitting for this witchy hour, hovering between dark and dawn. “Do you have a sweetheart in England?”

“After all these years?” Archie smiled. “Who can tell?”

“You did, then?” Distantly, he was aware that this question might be inappropriate, but he couldn’t stop himself; it seemed important, somehow, to know, to know more about Archie who had taught him a lot, and told him a lot, but nothing of himself.

Archie’s laughter took him by surprise. “Dear Horatio! It’s a shame we never got the chance to visit the city together, we could have had such a marvellous time.”

“The city” was a harmless enough phrase, and yet Horatio sensed that it implied something more, and he coloured at the idea. Doubtlessly, his squeamishness only contributed to Archie’s amusement. “Yes, thank you, Mr Kennedy,” he said tartly. “I am not quite the innocent you have me for.”

“Don’t say that as it was a bad thing!” Suddenly, all playfulness had gone out of Archie’s voice. “I would never call you gullible, or naive or clueless, or any of those things you might connote with innocence. Innocence in the purest, most righteous sense, that sounds more likely. Therein lies your strength.”

“I have been to sea for quite some time now.” It seemed important to clarify, and Horatio ploughed on. “And I have had my share of... shore leave, too.”

Archie cast him a sideways glance. “Did you enjoy it?”

One quick look at Archie’s face, and the indignant rebuke died on Horatio’s lips. This was nothing like the talks he had frequently witnessed – and never participated in – amongst the men, officers and tars alike. There was no coarseness to Archie’s words. With a jolt of surprise Horatio realised that his friend did not imply any salacious acts but rather wished to know of Horatio’s feelings. The sensation was quite new to him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“Archie...” he settled for his most reasonable tone of voice. “I hardly think this is appropriate.”

“What, talking about it or doing it?”

Despite himself, Horatio smiled. “What’s brought this on?”

Archie looked back at the window, straight into the face of Aurora who was hesitantly gazing in. “Memories,” he whispered.

And at once, memories came flooding in over Horatio, memories of hands and skin and lips, of perfumed hair and of heavy petticoats, and those of shame. His body that never felt quite his own would betray him even more when a skilful woman chose to play it like an instrument. The pleasure that would rush through him came at a price, and that price were self-respect and pride.

“Did _you_ enjoy it?” he suddenly needed to know whether Archie had experienced the same guilt and self-loathing whenever his body was satiated. Archie looked back at him and smiled his brilliant smile.

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted frankly. Horatio stared at him, fighting down an outburst of envy. Archie let his head roll back against the wall, his throat a long, pale arch above the open collar of his shirt. “I was very young then,” he added, with all the gravitas of his not one-and-twenty years. “My family spent a lot of time in London, and my brother Charles took me to the theatre. The play was Antony and Cleopatra, and when I saw Miss Cobham – suddenly, I understood the Bard.”

“I wish I could have introduced you,” Horatio said, “I fear she must have found my company rather dull. She would have liked your conversation much better.”

Archie shook his head, but he was still smiling. “Her Grace found you anything but dull, Mr Hornblower.” He licked his lips, a quick flicker of the tongue.

“How do you know?”

“I can tell.”

Archie sighed and fell silent. Horatio, startlingly flattered and emboldened by Archie’s words, relaxed into the silence. The barrier that had existed between them ever since Horatio had found Archie in the cell all those months ago had been further breached, and it struck Horatio that there was an intimacy to their friendship that he had never known before. It was a closeness born not out of necessity – born in cramped, overcrowded spaces on board ship, in the confines of a cell – but out of heartfelt affection. It was hard to believe that Archie loved him as a friend, but Horatio was determined to make himself believe it, to prove worthy of Archie’s friendship.

He was, Horatio suddenly realised, sitting much closer to Archie than he should. He couldn’t remember having shifted closer, and he was sure Archie hadn’t moved, either. And yet there they were, their arms and legs brushing against each other, even though he had seated himself at a distance to Archie when he first joined him on his cot. The air here was indeed much cooler than it had been in Horatio’s bunk, and he shivered slightly, sweat drying on his skin and clothes. The sleeve of his shirt rustled against Archie’s. Archie sighed, shifting restlessly, bringing their arms and legs in closer contact, and Horatio watched his body stretch, his chest rise and fall, his hips rise ever so slightly, and his gaze fell on Archie’s groin.

A heat wave erupted in the pit of his stomach and rolled over him, smothering everything in its wake. Horatio wanted to tear his gaze away, but his neck was paralysed and he couldn’t move his head. He forced himself to breathe in and out gently, quietly, as not to betray his own sudden arousal to Archie. A soft touch, a nudge against his hand - and a violent shudder shook him as Archie took his hand in his and put it on his thigh. Horatio stopped both breathing and thinking. In stunned fascination, he watched his own hand slide up Archie’s leg to the buttons of his breeches, and he unfastened them with trembling fingers, one by one, and snaked his hand inside, pushing away the fabrics that separated him from Archie’s skin.

He was hot and damp under Horatio’s fingers, and very hard. The angle was wrong, but Horatio pressed his elbow into Archie’s side and twisted his wrist so that he could grip Archie’s cock more firmly, and somewhere near his ear Archie made the most amazing sound. He fumbled a bit through the first couple of strokes, until the sensation of strangeness wore off and he found a steady rhythm that felt quite natural. Archie seemed to agree, as he had slid down in his seat, hips rocking upward, and he pressed his cheek against Horatio’s shoulder - a new, tender gesture. Lightheaded, Horatio pressed his lips into Archie’s hair, his grip firmer and firmer, his strokes faster and faster, and it didn’t take long. Archie groaned and, with a hard thrust of his hips, spilled himself all over Horatio’s hand.

Horatio’s first impulse, as soon as he started breathing again, was to pull back; he resisted, however, and remained quite still, waiting for Archie’s breath to even out and his own heart to stop racing. And then, Archie moved again, and he took Horatio’s hand and wiped it clean on his own shirt.

Horatio jerked back as though scalded, tumbled off the cot and fled from the room without a backward glance. The rising sun saw him pacing the yard, the noon saw him stumble across the cliffs, and the afternoon hours he spent in the library, staring unseeingly at the letters littering the page. He didn’t return to their cell until nightfall. When he crept in, Archie was lying on his front reading by the light of a solitary candle. He didn’t acknowledge Horatio’s presence, and Horatio didn’t break the silence. He shrugged off his jacket and heaved himself onto his bunk, bracing himself for a sleepless night. His body was breaking out in sweat already, and his chest was constricted – whether with lack of air or with apprehension, Horatio didn’t know.

Archie blew out the candle and silence fell, an absolute, humid silence that faded out everything else. Horatio counted off the passing minutes and hours as well as he could in his head, and he envied Archie the ease with which he had given himself over to the oblivion of sleep. It wasn’t until he heard a soft noise from the other bunk that Horatio realised Archie was lying awake, too. His heart thumped hard once, twice, and there was Archie’s voice, clear and quiet as ever, cutting through the silence. “Horatio? Should I apologise?”

Horatio took a deep, shaky breath. “No.”

Archie let out a half-strangled laugh. And even as he was drifting off to sleep, Horatio heard the rustle of raindrops that lifted the silence and left clear air in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> One line is lifted straight from Lucy Maud Montgomery, because it's fitting and beautiful.
> 
> Followed by [Grounded](http://archiveofourown.org/works/310653)


End file.
